


The Enchantment Of The Swans

by RedRoseWhite



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Swan Lake & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Erotic Swan Encounter, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fire, Magic, Masturbation, Snakes, Swans, fairytale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:53:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25986943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedRoseWhite/pseuds/RedRoseWhite
Summary: A girl with powerful magic  is enchanted by her grandfather, an evil wizard, in an attempt to keep her under his control. Can fate and love conspire together to break the spell and make her whole again?
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14
Collections: Let's Go to the Movies - Reylo Readers & Writers Prompt Exchange





	The Enchantment Of The Swans

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dyadinbloom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyadinbloom/gifts).



They had tried to hide. They did not use the names their mothers had given them. In the next village, the miller had died alone, so they settled and became the millers. Their daughter, with hair like taffy and eyes like a mossy swamp, sat in the rafter next to the apex of the grinding-stone, and watched as the villagers came with sacks of grain and left with sacks of flour. She learned reading from her mother and music from her father, and passed Sundays chasing frogs at the mill-pond. One such day, her parents returned from church to find a black cloaked man seated at their table. _Run!_ Her mother had screamed, but she could not go faster than the black cloak’s horse, and he found her panting behind a boulder. From the back of his horse as they rode, she looked back and her whole home was orange, spewing charcoal smoke into the afternoon sky.

The black hood was frightening to her, but when it was lowered, he was just an old man, like the blacksmith’s father who gave her boiled sweets, or the priest who married people in town.  
“Do you know who I am?” He asked as he took her in his arms and pulled her from the horse. He set her gently on the ground and she stared up at the crenellated walls all around, slowly turning to take in the gates and the landscape beyond. A castle with a tower. A stable. A lake.  
She shook her head.  
“I am your grandfather.” He said. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll take care of you now. I am very powerful. You will want for nothing.”

She did want for nothing. Grandfather’s enchantments made her life easy, until her seventeenth birthday; the Day Of The Sword.

The sword was foreboding. It had a great crystal set in its hilt and it hung behind Grandfather’s seat at the table in the Great Hall of the castle that had no need for a Great Hall, because no one ever came for an audience or tributes. It was where they took their meals and there was a large hearth along one wall with a low table and cushions set before it, a space for her to be tutored by Grandfather. The other wall held shelves with the books she was allowed to read, many many pages of poetry and learning, botanical illustrations and diagrams of animals and birds. Most of her life was spent in the hall or in her bedroom and the rest of the castle was closed to her. She was certainly never to go near Grandfather’s Study, which sat in the lowest level, just inside the door that led to the dock which jutted into the lake. On the door were ominous carvings that depicted a snake, a bear, a stag and a boar.

On the day when the Summer Solstice fell, she turned seventeen. There was no ball, no gifts, nothing was special about the daily meals, except that Grandfather poured her a sea-dark glass of wine.

“To your health, my love,” he toasted. The wine in his own cup was ruby and bright. She drank, and then slowly the world began to narrow into darkness, as if vines were growing over her eyes, making a wall of roses and thorns between her and the sounds of the hall and the hearth.

She awoke just before sunset, away from the table, the tower, and her bed. Her head could turn freely, but her arms and legs were bound. She was lying on a great stone, a stone that was mottled with green moss and old black stripes of blood. Grandfather stood next to her in his black cloak, and he brandished the sword over her body. As the aureate rays of the sun radiated over the curve of the horizon, they were gathered into the brilliance of the sword’s crystal. She saw them re-shaped by it, and they fell across her heart, piercing it with a feeling that was like a wound without pain.

Grandfather was chanting in a language that she couldn’t understand. Fear was squirming inside her but it couldn’t get to the surface. The rays intensified, and at the moment when the sun disappeared and the longest day became the shortest night, she knew nothing more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The stag was too beautiful for the prince Benyamin not to pursue it. He was born in the month of Cyprus, and his emblem was a black stag. This animal with five-pointed antlers was destined for him. Even though the pursuit would draw him to within a league of the lake, where none of his men would go for fear of enchantment, Ben drove his horse through the wood, light rain and specks of pollen falling in his hair.

It was right at the edge of the lake that he nocked his bow. The stag was drinking with a graceful air, and Benyamin’s aim was true as ever, but as he let fly, a storm cloud descended on him and knocked him from his steed. The arrow only pierced the animal’s side, not his neck, a non-lethal blow, and with a bellow he ran through the clearing and away among the darkness of the evening that settled between the trees.

Ben, alone and knocked into breathlessness, looked up at the form that had unhorsed him. It was a magnificent black swan. Her eye was orange and her beak was red. Her feathers were blacker than his blackest velvet doublet. She spread her wings over his prone form and bent her snaking neck to nuzzle him, right along his jaw. He felt a powerful urge to touch her. She smelled like mud and succulent marsh-grass, and the wheel of the stars in the sky behind her was like a celestial crown. In a moment, she had folded her wings again and taken off over the lake. Benyamin stood slowly, still clinging to wonderment, and saw his tired, foaming horse. They would have to make camp, it would be cruel to try to get all the way home with his mount already in such a state. “Well, Grimtaash,” he said to his equine friend, “I suppose we should build a fire.”

He stowed his flint back in the saddlebag once the kindling had caught. Grimtaash was tethered to a tree at the edge of the water, and the horse took a long drink before settling down on his hocks to rest. The prince ate a small amount of rations, relieved himself against a large tree, and settled next to the fire with his cloak for a pillow. He took note of the position of the stars and some landmarks in his surroundings, so that he would know which direction to take for the ride home tomorrow.

In his slumber, the black swan came to him again. Power suffused every quiver of her feathers. Ben beheld her with awe. She stalked around his body, and the stare of her bronze eyes made him feel as if he could join in her strength by becoming like her. He took off his linen shirt, his riding pants and boots, his codpiece, and joined her under the stars, nude and crouching on the grass. Her long, imposing wings stroked his arms, and he felt the scratchy vein of each feather surrounded by the velvety softness of her ebony down, all along his skin. The grass under him was cool from the fog off the lake as he lay down for the swan. She hovered over him and ran her neck across his face, tickling his eyelashes and his lips. Her wing nudged at his hand and he grasped his burning manhood, stroking and pulling it as she observed him from head to toe. Her presence was ecstatic; she drew lust from him as a smith’s smelter would draw iron from ore. Ben’s hand clutched harder as he slipped his foreskin back and forth over the purpling head of his cock, squeezing rhythmically. The swan caressed his skin relentlessly in silence, at her own pace, the tiny feathers along her neck ruffling with the prince’s panting breaths. Finally, she opened her full wingspan directly above him and blotted out the night sky, and the rush of air across his nipples and scrotum and hot, weeping prick made him spend in an arc that painted her sable plumage with diamonds and pearls of cum.

Ben ate the second third of his rations for breakfast and tried not to get his belongings too wet with dew. As the sun lifted her halo just over the rim of the lake, Grimtaash chewed two carrots and an apple from the prince’s hand. Out on the water, Benyamin gazed upon a beautiful majestic swan, not the black one from the night and his dream; a white one, pure and gracious. She floated serenely among the ripples created by the other swans of her entourage. They were all well-formed and lovely, but she had the most loveliness of all. He did not take up his bow and arrow; he could not stand the thought of smearing her snowy breast with heart’s blood. The beauty of the rapturous moment was pierced with a panicked whinny from Grimtaash. Ben turned and saw his untethered horse dancing to avoid the writhing form of a serpent that wove along the ground between his hooves. The snake hissed with frenzied menace and Grimtaash’s eyes rolled wildly, and before Benyamin could reach and calm him, his horse ran so far and so fast, that he was left by the lake with no way home, and nothing besides his clothes and his sword.


End file.
